Poetry By
Mike Cumberland All material copyright Mike Cumberland
Our Children’s Children
We work our lives day-in, day-out,
And listen to the din and shout,
Sometimes in awestruck wonder we abhor;
When all around us chaos roars.
It seems all a dream from this fine land
Whilst “little poppsies” drive Lincoln Navigators with demand.
Yet, come forth our dues will soon be named,
The proud will fall, all know their shame.
Unrepentant men consume ambrosian oil;
They say it is their right for their great toil:
Deflowering maids which sporting virgins play,
And once clean robes are soiled and gay.
For all our crashing cymbals and beating drums
Have done nothing, but strike us dumb.
All the machines, troops and gold
Do give us arrogance too bold.
Philosophers recite to us,
And argue eruditions thus:
Sophocles, Prometheus, Euripides,
The Death of Pan and Achilles.
Moses’ Rules, the Tablet Laws,
Christ’s mounted Sermon while all paused;
Mohamed, Buddha and Confucius
It is confused ─ is it useless?
Worship their most glorious name.
Deaf to the rumors of fallacious fame;
While heroes die with honors massed,
All present are the brass.
They lie in sepulchral tombs
And sometimes immolation consumes;
While thus amidst the stormy flames
Loge laughs and makes his claims.
Throughout the world oppression rules,
The common man cries, “Vengeance due”!
Our misery alone is not to repair
For all our crosses we must bear.
In far off lands where disparity is worst
And oceans alone do thereby abate the cries of the accursed;
We in this Western World do smugly know,
That enmity, envy, and jealousy, all with equanimity, grows.
A mother and a child mourn.
They once believed the golden dreams adorned.
But, they sit ─ hungry and assailed;
Their dreams torn limb-from-limb and failed.
In their dust they now lay torn,
They were told to stay the storm.
But, ah how the story changed:
They now lie blank staring and dazed.
Their never ending sorrow flows.
“Oh, fateful voyage with innocent’s woes”.
Unhappy love still bears its grace,
While death is the only humane fate.
The House of Pelops, The House of Windsor must all fall.
Time is the destroyer of us all.
With this knowledge we do deign
Impart our labors thus obtained?
Do we ignore the humble prayers,
Of those meek and mild which we are unaware?
Or, do we with our labours show our rage
At inequity; and trust our cares thus engaged
This time in which we live ─ destinic path we trudge
Imparting our dear generational grudge.
Care we must take to realize,
The message given ─ truth or lies?
Our children’s children are at stake.
Will rage and anger be assuaged?
I know not, but that I know without delay:
Humanities lethargy will flame the fray.
Of hope, others must not be bereft,
“Oh hope!” our message must be sent.
Across the great waters we must find friends;
On this good Earth peace and love towards all ─ we must attend!
By: Mike Cumberland
Copyright © 2006 “The Gatehouse Publications
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Tapio
This Poem has been used in R. Murray Schafer’s:
Patria: The Epilogue And Wolf Shall Inherit The Moon for almost two
decades.
It is a wilderness setting. Tapio is on a large gathering rock, about
˝ acre, in the midst of a grassy meadow of about 30 acres all
surrounded by tall evergreen wilderness forest The music echoes from
the forest back to the audience.
It is recited on Great Wheel Day (The Final Day) when Tapio, the
protector of the forest, calls the clans with his alphorn to assemble
at Moose Rock. His alphorn playing is echoed by other instruments
hidden in the forest. When all are assembled in order from Foxes to
Deer, Tapio speaks. (Music for this can be ordered from Arcana
Editions, and can be heard on The Composer Portrait Series from The
Canadian Music Centre – R. Murray schafer)
Tapio
I am Tapio
Protector of the forest.
All I say and all I think
Is harmonious with the forest.
Tapio within me, Tapio around you;
Spirit, keeper of the forest.
In me is the windswept truth of the shore-pine,
The calm waters, the dawn mists;
The tumbling waterfalls and rugged gorges;
Spirit of all within the land.
I am Tapio
Protector of the forest.
All I say and all I think
Is harmonious with the forest.
Tapio within me, Tapio around you;
Spirit, keeper of the forest.
(As Tapio invokes the clan names, the clans present their gifts at his
feet.)
In me is the howl of wolf, (the word “howl” is lengthened to a long
wolf howl)
The call of loon,(on the words “call of loon” a major third is sung Eb-G
descending to and E natural – thus imitating one of the loon calls.)
The speed of deer,
Strength of bear,
Shelter of turtle,
Thrift of squirrel,
Cunning of fox,
Industry of beaver,
And magic of Raven.
These are my forests, and these are my creatures.
I am Tapio
Protector of the forest.
All I say and all I think
Is harmonious with the forest.
Tapio within me, Tapio around you;
Spirit, keeper of the forest.
In me is the joy of sunrise, the heat of day,
Darkness descending and moonlight mysteries.
I am the forest, the sheltering tree of life,
Protector of all within its realms.
I am Tapio
Protector of the forest.
All I say and all I think
Is harmonious with the forest.
Tapio within me, Tapio around you;
Spirit, keeper of the forest.
(Tapio then allows the clans to enter the path to The Great Wheel of
Life while all sing, “Oh Yan Do Nay…”By: Mike Cumberland
Copyright © 2006 “The Gatehouse Publications. |
There is a Price To Pay For
This Dear Life
(A sonnet to those who have fought the good fight.)
There is a price to pay for this dear life.
From joy of birth to our last foaming breath,
From innocence, with wide and wond’ring eyes;
To expectations, great ambitions, death.
On some aspiring is quite dearly forced;
Despair may follow pedigreed born birth.
Others, rise above their humble course
To maintain a stature on this earth.
But, who is not the sum of lives before?
“To thine own self be true”, often we’re told,
We work, we love, we die, mad passion borne.
To family, from fates unknown goal ─
Yet in the end our hearts be weighed for strife;
There is a price to pay for this dear life!
By: Mike Cumberland
Copyright © 2006 “The Gatehouse Publications.
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